


Rack 'Em Up

by BekahRose



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Pool & Billiards, Public Sex, Sexual Tension, Strip Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:31:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BekahRose/pseuds/BekahRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin is the BSCC Champion, and likes nothing more than spending his Friday nights challenging amateurs to a game of Strip 8-Ball.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rack 'Em Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [digthewriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/digthewriter/gifts), [agirlnamedtruth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agirlnamedtruth/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [Merlin_Writers](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Merlin_Writers), [kitty_fic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitty_fic/gifts), [Tari_Sue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tari_Sue/gifts), [Waanderlust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waanderlust/gifts).



> My first Live-Fic in the Merlin_Writer's Chatzy Chat Room. Inspired when Dig shared a picture of a CM photo shoot where he's leaning down to shoot some pool. Thank you to EVERYONE in the chatroom for the encouragement and the company while writing this, I most likely would have given up half-way through without it. Ya'll are AWESOME.
> 
> If I've forgotten your name in the "Gift it to" section, I am so very sorry, but please know that it falls under the umbrella of "Merlin_Writers".
> 
> \----

** Rack ‘Em Up **

 

The back corner at Arthur's is dimly lit and almost hidden courtesy of a haze of smoke. It's quiet for a Friday night and as he stubs his cigarette out and stretches, he wonders if anyone will step up to the table and lay down a few quid on attempting to - quite literally - beat the trousers off him in a game of strip billiards. He racks the balls up anyway and chalks the tip of his cue before stretching and checking his watch. It's only just gone nine and some of the regulars don't really make it in until half past so he figures he may as well get in a practice round beforehand.

 

He lines up his first shot, can feel the tension building in his shoulders before he releases and makes the connection between cue and cue ball. He takes a deep breath even as he stands back and listens to the click-clack of the break. He watches as the balls scatter across the table, already planning his next three shots, seeing them in his mind's eye when the bell above the door jangles to life. He lifts his head, smile already on his face at the prospect of a challenger, only to frown when he sees it's the owner coming in to relieve the man behind the bar.

 

It's not that he doesn't like the owner, he does; after all it's not every pool hall owner who allows the BSCC Champion to challenge patrons to a weekly game of Strip 8-Ball. It's just that he's been coming here for nearly eight months now and every time he asks the man -- “ _Arthur_ ,” a little voice in his head whispers. “ _His name is Arthur,_ ” -- if he's interested in a game, he disappears and doesn't resurface until a week later. It's driving Merlin mad. In all the months he's been coming here, there are only two people who he has stripped down to their smalls before he'd won the game.

 

He pockets the 1 ball before moving around and positioning himself to sink the 2, all the while keeping his eye on the door for anyone familiar or who looks gullible enough to take their chances with the ‘lanky streak of nothing’ at the back of the room. He stands up after sinking the 2, 3 and 4 in quick succession and slings his cue up across his shoulders and stretches again. The bell on the door goes again, this time announcing the departure of a group of what he thinks might be Uni students and he shakes his head. It looks like tonight is not his night for blowing off steam. A quick glance down at the pool table and Merlin sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair before moving back around the table to trick-shot balls 5 and 6 with the pool cue wrapped around his waist.

 

He turns his head from watching the balls slide into the pockets with a gentle clicking and he catches the owner... _Arthur_... watching him, eyes dark with something Merlin isn't entirely sure he wants to put a label on. It's confusing because outside of Merlin's attempts to get him to join in a game, he really hasn't had much contact with him. He looks down, thinking perhaps he's got chalk dust all down his front -- it wouldn't be the first time, and it most definitely _won't_ be the last -- and he notices what it must look like to anyone watching him; his arms are behind him, braced against the outside cushion of the table, his hips thrust forward to counterbalance the way he leans into the shot. He feels heat suffuse his cheeks before he looks back up and meets Arthur's gaze with his own before he takes a deep breath and lifts one eyebrow in question, tilting his head in invitation towards the table.

 

Arthur doesn't say anything doesn't even nod or shake his head and it drives Merlin absolutely insane. He huffs a breath before turning back to the table and mapping out his next three shots; 7 ball in the top-right, corner pocket followed by the 8 and 9 in the center-right respectively. He hears the bell on the door one more time but doesn't bother to look up. He's given this Friday night up to lost causes and if anyone shows up now and wants to challenge him, well, they'll just have to deal with having their arses handed to them in four shots or less.

 

Merlin rounds the table once again, preparing himself to sink the 10 ball in the bottom-left corner. He leans across the table, cue in position and ready. He sights along the length of wood, sees beyond his target on the cue ball to the bright blue 10 and the pocket beyond. He takes a slow breath and releases it through his nose and his arm is already in motion when he feels warm breath wash over the back of his neck and strong hands grip his hips. The sudden intrusion of his personal space surprises him, causing the cue to miss its target and send the cue ball sailing over the 10 to bounce off the table and roll away.

 

“Do you fucking _mind_?” Merlin yells as he spins around to face the complete wanker who ruined his shot. “I could have torn the table!” He pulls back far enough so he can see just who he's yelling at and feels anything else he could say, stick in his throat.

 

Arthur smirks before leaning closer. “Closing up for the night, just thought you should know.” He looks over Merlin's shoulder to the pool table and nods slowly. “In case you were... expecting someone?”

 

Merlin freezes up and all of a sudden, the area where Arthur's hands rest on his hips feels like a brand even through his trousers. “ _Ri-ight_ ,” he says slowly, slipping away from Arthur to grab his cue-case. “No, not expecting anyone. Well,” he stumbles over his words as he tries to balance the cue and pull it apart so it will pack away neatly. "Not really, just..." he waves at the table and shrugs. “It's not a planned thing,” he says finally. “Just blowing off some steam.”

 

He takes a deep breath and looks between the table and Arthur. He hates to leave when there are still balls on the table, waiting to be pocketed away until the next time, but he doesn't want to wear out his welcome; especially when it's a precarious thing at most due to his regular challenges of strip-8 ball. “D'you mind if I just finish this up and then I'll be out of your hair?” He holds his breath as he waits for an answer and silently hopes that Arthur will tell him he has at least five minutes to wrap it up. A quick look at the table followed by a quick look at the floor for the cue ball, and Merlin knows he can have everything sunk in four minutes... three if he feels like showing off. When Arthur's smirk turns sly, Merlin feels something in his gut twist.

 

"That challenge still stand?" Arthur asks, leaning his hip against the table as his eyes travels the length of Merlin's torso to rest on his hands.

 

Merlin swallows around the lump that has suddenly formed in his throat and nods. "Sure," he manages and nods at the table. “Er, rack 'em up I guess while I get the cue ball?” He sets his pool cue aside after tightening the tip and goes to where the cue ball landed. He can hear the sharp click-clack of the balls as Arthur racks them up and he can feel beads of sweat forming at his temples. It's not that he hasn't wanted to challenge the other man before; he's offered at least once a month since he found the place, only to be knocked back. In truth, he'd kinda given up asking or even expecting more than just a cursory nod whenever they were in the hall at the same time.

 

“House rules,” Arthur says when Merlin straightens up and he already has a cue in hand. “Break to see who pots what, premature sinking of the 8 ball is forfeit, sinking the opponent’s ball...”

 

“Is a foul and two shots to the other player.” Merlin finishes. It's not exactly the kind of challenge he'd planned for, but it'll do and maybe he'll get to know the owner of the hall just a little bit more than ‘The fit bloke that runs things.’

 

“Actually,” Arthur says, “I was going to say, 'sinking the opponent's ball costs you a piece of clothing and your turn,' that _is_ what you normally play for on a Friday night, right?”

 

Merlin feels like the temperature in the pool hall has gone up by at least twenty degrees and his mouth has dried up. “Uhh,” he looks down at the table, can feel the rush of blood heating across his cheeks. “I... there's...” He stops and takes a calming breath, unsure as to why all of a sudden he's feeling exposed, for all that he's fully dressed in black trousers and a white button-down shirt.

 

Arthur's smirk returns and Merlin's embarrassment quickly turns to annoyance. “You're on,” Merlin says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pound coin. “Call it to break,” he bites back his own smirk as he tosses the coin and catches it as Arthur leans across the table and says “ _Tails_ ”. Merlin opens his hand to display the coin, grinning when he sees that the coin has landed up, displaying Queen Elizabeth's head. He wonders momentarily if he should draw this out or take mercy on the over-confident owner and end it quickly, however another look at Arthur's smirking face as he chalks up his own cue, has Merlin already planning on dragging it out as long as he possibly can.

 

Merlin slips the coin back into his pocket as he accepts the chalk from Arthur before chalking up his own cue then lining up to break. He takes a moment to track Arthur as he moves around the table to stand just off to the side before he pulls his arm back and knocks the cue ball just below dead center. He lifts up and away from the table in time to watch the colourful balls begin their rolling dance around the table; he bites down on his lower lip as the 8 ball skirts the edge of the center-right pocket before bouncing off the cushion to settle in the middle of the table. He's sunk nothing, but at the same time, he's sent the balls bouncing around the table to still in positions that look like you'd need a degree in trigonometry to sink them.

 

Merlin steps away from the table to watch as Arthur frowns and eyeballs the table. He swallows down a chuckle and turns away to reach for his half-drunk pint, grateful that he's going to get a chance to finish his drink on top of a game with the owner. He turns just in time to see the cue ball glance off the cushion at the far end before settling in the middle of nowhere. Merlin arches an eyebrow at Arthur as he turns and jogs over to behind the bar before coming back with a fresh jug of beer and a spare pint glass.

 

“Perks of being the owner,” he says by way of explanation as he settles the jug and glass down on the table by Merlin's drink. “Your turn?” he asks, looking at the table.

 

Merlin nods slowly and steps up to the table as Arthur pours himself a drink and tops up Merlin's glass. Merlin's focus turns back to the table and he lets everything else drift away as he maps his next shot. He's pretty sure he can sink the solid, bright yellow 1 ball from where he's standing and he leans in to take the shot. He releases a breath he didn't realise he was holding as the ball slips soundlessly into the bottom-left corner pocket. He straightens up and feels the corners of his mouth pull up into a tiny smile. He looks at the fresh layout of the table, mapping not just his shots but Arthur's as well.

 

As he passes Arthur, he can hear the man's chuckle, “Figured you were more of a 'Bigs' guy, than a 'Smalls'.”

 

Merlin is grateful he was only reaching for his pint glass, because surely he didn't mean what he just said. Merlin has two long drinks from his pint before reaching for his packet of cigarettes. “You been taking innuendo lessons from Gwaine?” He asks after he lights up his smoke. Off Arthur's confused look, he continues. “Regular? Dark hair to about here, bit of a pretty boy, smart mouth...” He shakes his head when that doesn't seem to spark any recollection in Arthur and he sighs. “I beat him back in July, stripped him down to his briefs before letting him walk away.”

 

Merlin tilts his head as he exhales, the bitter smoke adding to the hazy curtain of the room but he doesn't miss the recognition in Arthur's gaze when he tells him that Gwaine is the first of two people he's managed to get down to their underwear and he laughs. “Yeah, that's Gwaine,” he says as he walks back to the table. “King of the cheesy pick-up line and modern day Rapunzel.” He leans into his next shot, aiming for the 2 ball. He can hear Arthur shift, can see him moving from the corner of his eye, but as Merlin's taken two shots already and nothing weird has happened by way of Arthur trying to psyche him out, he pays it no mind and goes back to focusing on the table. He purposefully shoots wide, the cue ball just glancing off the 2 before coming to a stop against the far-side cushion. He can hear Arthur's laughter as it echoes through the stillness of the hall and tilts his head to watch him, his breath catching at the way Arthur laughs; his head thrown back to expose his throat, his shoulders shaking. It's a rich sound and it makes Merlin's insides twist a little. “Guess you're up,” he says finally, flicking the ashy end of his cigarette in the ashtray and motioning to the table.

 

Merlin watches as Arthur approaches the table from one side, before deciding better of it and moving. He lines up the shot before leaning in and over the table. Merlin watches closely, lets his gaze travel down the line of Arthur's back to finally rest on Arthur's backside. He lifts his gaze in time to see Arthur pot the 9 ball quickly followed by the white, the smile he shoots Merlin is somewhat sheepish and he sets aside his cue to wriggle out of his shoes before picking them up and placing them on a nearby stool.

 

Merlin's laugh bubbles up out of his throat as he approaches the table to fish out the cue ball from where it rests in the side pocket closest to him. “Innuendo lessons from Gwaine and learning how to play 8-ball from the steady stream of Uni students I see.” Merlin teases as he takes the ball back to the key and shoots down the table without really thinking about it. He smirks as it bounces hard off the cushion opposite him before streaking back up the table to knock the two into the top-right corner pocket. His grin widens when Arthur laughs again and this time when he takes his next shot, he hits the cue ball too hard and it bounces over the red 3 ball to land at Arthur's feet.

 

Arthur looks down at his feet before picking up the ball and placing it in the center of the table. “Aren't you supposed to be the Billiard and Snooker Champion?” He asks, causing Merlin to flush.

 

Merlin rubs the back of his neck and stubs out his cigarette before kicking off his shoes to place them with Arthur's. “Someone's been doing their homework.” He says, motioning for Arthur to take his turn.

 

Arthur sinks the ten before giving him a Look. “Stranger walks into my home and starts challenging the patrons to _strip_ 8-ball, late on Friday night... I want to know what kind of nutter I have to keep an eye on." He smiles and sinks the 11 ball, but it was a tricky shot and with it goes the 7 ball. “Shit,” he murmurs, head hanging down between his shoulders. “Besides, it may have escaped your notice, but I own this pool hall, so it's safe to say I have a somewhat passing interest in the sport."

 

Merlin concedes that Arthur has a point about being worried what kind of trouble Merlin was inviting with his weekly challenges, but, “In my defence, I've only ever let it go as far as underwear twice.” Merlin says as he lines up his next shot. “And no, it hadn't escaped my notice; I just thought you weren't interested.”

 

“In you or the game?” Arthur asks as the 3 ball snags on the cushion at the edge of the center pocket before coming to a rest.

 

Merlin flushes and shrugs as he steps back from the table and grabs his drink. “In all honesty, I'm surprised you even let me continue to come back in here after the first time.” He downs the rest of his drink and watches as Arthur attempts and fails to pocket the 12 ball.

 

They spend the next few minutes taking turns, knocking the brightly coloured balls around the table. It's not long before Arthur loses his shirt, and Merlin loses his socks and watch. He laughs at something Arthur says about one of the guys who mans the bar on a Saturday night, Cenred. He was the last guy to challenge Merlin, and he'd been sent home the Friday night prior in the smallest pair of briefs known to man as Merlin happily counted the fifty quid before pocketing it and leaving for the night. So wrapped up in what Arthur is saying, Merlin leans across the table to reach the cue ball; it's awkward, but he knows he can make the shot if he stretches his torso just enough.

 

He pulls his arm back ready to take the shot when he feels it, feels the warmth of Arthur's hand on his back through the cotton of his shirt. The shock of it startles him enough that it sends the ball wide and it prematurely ends the game as Merlin accidentally sinks the 8 ball. Arthur's laugh is no longer something boisterous, but rich and gentle, just past his ear. It causes Merlin to shiver, even as he hangs his head and curses. “That's cheating,” he says, setting aside his cue and turning to face Arthur. Arthur grins in response before turning back to the table.

 

“I think you'll find that you owe me a shirt.” He looks back to Merlin and tugs at the place where Merlin's shirt is tucked into his trousers. “Best two out of three?” He asks as he walks around the table, emptying the pockets.

 

Arthur has the balls racked and waiting by the time Merlin slips the last button through its hole and slides the shirt from his shoulders. He feels the flush as it works down his chest rather than sees it and again he reaches for the coin in his pocket. “Call it?” This time, Arthur is close enough to Merlin's side that he snatches the coin mid-air.

 

“Head.”

 

Merlin feels the blush deepen and steps back, smirking when Arthur sets the coin down on the edge of the table. “Your break,” he says using the chance to create some space between them. The balls break with a clack and Merlin watches as they scatter across the table and smirks when Arthur fails to sink anything. He steps up to the table then, eyeing the cue ball as it rolls to a stop just in front of the 2. He looks at the table and thinks, maybe he can sink the 1 if he bounces the ball over the 8 and he bites his lip as he leans to take the shot. He lines up the shot once more and as he's about to release and connect the cue to the cue ball, when strong hands grip his hips and hold him steady.

 

Merlin freezes and bites back a small whimper, his head drops to hang between his shoulders as he tries to pull his focus back together. He loses it altogether when he feels warm lips press against his shoulder and his cue clatters to the table. “Definitely... cheating...” He mutters as his heart hammers against his ribs.

 

Arthur's laughter is a breath against his skin and Merlin is grateful that his hands are braced against the pool table to hold him up otherwise he'd be under the pool table in a breathless puddle. “I _did_ say it was house rules,” Arthur says softly. “And as owner of this _fine_ establishment, I reserve the right to adjust the house rules as I see fit.” He removes one of his hands from Merlin's hips and Merlin watches as he reaches for his pool cue. “Take the shot, or forfeit your belt,” he tells him.

 

Merlin looks down at the table, the brightly coloured balls blurring as his focus slips again when he feels Arthur's hands slide around his waist to play with his belt. He takes a deep, shuddering breath before relining his original shot. As he leans back in, he rolls his hips and smirks when Arthur gasps. He makes contact with the cue ball and watches with delight as it bounces over the top of the 8 ball and clips the 1, sending it straight into the pocket. He can feel Arthur's frustrated growl reverberate through his back and his laughter is light as he dances out of Arthur's reach. “Champion, remember?” He teases before tossing Arthur his own cue and motioning at the table. “C'mon, I'll even let you have this one for free because of the effort you went to, to make me fuck up my shot.”

 

Arthur's eyes narrow and he shoots Merlin a glare that only serves to make him laugh harder; he steps up to the table though and lines up his shot. Merlin smirks and waits and just as Arthur's about to release his arm, he reaches out with the wider end of his cue and runs it up the inside of Arthur's leg as gently as possible. The cue ball is bucked from the table and there is a loud ripping sound as the tip of Arthur's cue tears through the felt. Merlin's eyes widen as Arthur spins around and pins him with his stare. “I am so sorry.” Merlin says with his hands up in surrender as his own cue falls by the wayside. “I'll pa...” He's cut off as Arthur reaches across the short distance between them and hauls him close, his lips crashing into Merlin's in an effective way of shutting him up.

 

Merlin pulls away a moment later, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. “We ... I ...” He blinks slowly as Arthur laughs at him, and he can't help himself. He lowers his head to the place where Arthur's neck meets his shoulders and teases the area with his tongue even as his fingers make their way down Arthur's front to his waist. He lifts his head when a small moan escapes Arthur's throat. “Ruining the table, you forfeit your belt.” He smirks before going back to leave a trail of nipping kisses along Arthur's collarbone.

 

Merlin's fingers are nimble and he undoes Arthur's belt before dragging it through its loops and letting it fall to the floor. He can feel how hard Arthur is through his trousers and it sends a bolt of pleasure down Merlin's spine to sit low in his gut. Arthur's hands are back at his hips and for a moment Merlin thinks he's going to shove him away, tell him that it's all gone too far and that it is most _definitely_ time for him to find another pool hall to frequent. It's a shock when instead; Arthur spins him around and lifts him onto the pool table.

 

Arthur wastes no time in stripping Merlin of his belt and trousers, grinning as he tosses both items somewhere behind Merlin. “Pretty sure your interruption counts as a gross foul under house rules and you forfeit belt _and_ trousers.” He tugs at the waistband of Merlin's pants however and Merlin can clearly see Arthur contemplating Merlin forfeiting those as well.

 

Arthur's thumb brushes the head of Merlin's cock through the tight material of his briefs and it takes everything Merlin has to keep from flying apart then and there. Merlin can see Arthur grin in the dim light above the pool table and bites his lip as strong hands curve around his hips and pull him to the edge of the table. He pushes Merlin back with a firm hand against his chest until he's lying back across the felt, hands and arms flailing at his sides and behind him as he goes to get rid of any balls that might be in the way. From this position, Merlin can't see much unless Arthur climbs on top of him, and while he thinks the tables in here are sturdy enough, he doesn't really want to put this one to the test just now.

 

Once he's settled back on the table, he can feel Arthur move away and panic stabs at Merlin's chest. The last thing he wants is to be done for indecent exposure and okay, so he's not really out in public -- the hall is closed, after all -- he doesn't want Arthur to call the cops. “Arthur?” he calls out, lifting his head to see if he can't spot the other man lurking just out of line-of-sight. He's so hard he _aches_ and his fingers itch to reach down and take himself in hand but the thought that Arthur's just popped off to call the local constabulary make him slip his hands behind his back, effectively trapping them under his own weight, against the pool table.

 

The panic abates when Arthur appears at the top of the pool table, eyes still dark as he takes in Merlin's position on the table and his erection straining against his pants. “I'm right here,” he grins as he sets a small handful of foil packets on the table. “I knew that pound coin would come in handy for something other than just tossing.” His grin turns into a smirk as he watches Merlin squirm on the table before walking back around to nudge Merlin's thighs apart and settle between them.

 

Merlin whimpers when Arthur's fingers make their way back to the waistband of his pants and begins to tug them down until Merlin's cock springs forth. Lifting his head slightly, Merlin can just see Arthur's blond head dip down to blow cool air across his already heated skin to send hundreds of tiny little pinpricks of pleasure setting his nerves alight. "For fucks sake, Arthur," Merlin growls, his arms sliding out from behind his back and moving up to grab Arthur's head. His fingers thread through his hair and attempt to guide him to where he wants him to be. A dark chuckle brushes against Merlin's skin before the head of his prick is engulfed in warm, wet heat. Merlin's fingers tighten in Arthur's hair when he feels Arthur's tongue dance along the ridge before he sucks hard, causing Merlin's head to fall back against the table with a dull thunk.

 

Merlin's heart feels like it's about to leap out of his chest and it shocks him that the gasping, groaning sound he can hear echoing around the hall is him. “Jesus,” he mutters when he feels Arthur's tongue dance along the vein on the underside of his cock, even as his lips tighten around him and the squeezing, sucking pleasure continues. When he nudges the back of Arthur's throat, can feel Arthur's harsh exhales against the thatch of dark curls at the base, he yells out and let's go of Arthur's hair for fear of ripping out great handfuls. He is _so_ close. Pleasure zips along every nerve ending setting his blood on fire and coiling in the base of his spine, winding him tighter than a spring. Arthur must be able to feel that he's close because he pulls back from Merlin and replaces his mouth with his fist, his other hand is nowhere to be seen and Merlin wonders if he's using it to take care of his own erection or if it's gripping the edge of the table to keep him upright. He props himself up on his elbows because he wants to see what Arthur is doing, wants to know without having to ask for a running commentary -- although a tiny voice that exists in a part of his mind that is still coherent at this point, tells him that a running commentary in that hushed whisper of all snooker tourney announcers is something that he would definitely like to put on the table for later -- and he meets Arthur's gaze, can tell by the way his left shoulder is moving in quick, stilted jerks that he's _definitely_ not holding onto the edge of the pool table.

 

Merlin slumps back onto the table as Arthur tilts his head and presses his lips to the inside of Merlin's thigh and he is so damn close, wound so tightly that he's sure his muscles are going to snap and then he _feels_ it. The gentle scrape of teeth along the inside of his knee timed with a deft flick of Arthur's wrist and that's _it_. Merlin hits the edge and continues over as his orgasm slams into him. Hot pulses of come splash onto his belly as Arthur angles Merlin's cock away from Arthur's face and Merlin is too blissed out to care. His chest heaves as he tries to suck in several great lungfuls of air and calm his racing heart. When he feels like he's pulled himself together, he returns his hands to Arthur's head, petting as best he can while his arms tremble with exertion. He feels warm lips press against the same spot on his knee that sent him over the edge and giggles and kicks out. He feels, rather than hears or sees Arthur's questioning grunt. “Tickles,” he says breathlessly before pulling Arthur up to meet him with a tug of his hair.

 

Their lips meet and Merlin slides his fingers down to join Arthur's which are wrapped around his already spent cock. Leaning back, Merlin raises an eyebrow in question at Arthur who simply shrugs. “Couldn't wait any longer,” he says by way of explanation before kissing Merlin again.

 

Merlin laughs into Arthur's mouth before resting his head on his shoulder and looking at the mess of the pool table he's sitting on. “So,” he begins after the silence stretches and settles around them. “8 ball in the corner pocket?” He nods to the layout of the pool table and almost falls off the edge as Arthur bursts into laughter.

 

When he stops to catch his breath, he presses his forehead to Merlin's and nods. “House rules and loser gets to make breakfast in the morning.”

 

Merlin grins and wraps his arms around Arthur's shoulders. “Right then, rack 'em up.”


End file.
